


What he wants

by MToddWebster (RembrandtsWife)



Series: Your Shape in the Doorway [4]
Category: Andrew Hozier-Byrne (Musician)
Genre: Long-Distance Relationship, Love Letters, Love and Work, Other, RPF, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:40:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25648963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RembrandtsWife/pseuds/MToddWebster
Summary: In a brief moment of quiet, Andrew considers what he wants.
Relationships: Andrew Hozier-Byrne/You
Series: Your Shape in the Doorway [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1839052
Comments: 3
Kudos: 38





	What he wants

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short vignette in this series. Thanks as always to roosebolton for being a great friend and reader.

He wants to tell you what he wants.

He has a pad of clean paper and one of his favorite pens. He has a few days, a few minutes of quiet in the midst of the summer festival round. He wants to tell you what he wants, but it's unexpectedly difficult. 

He wants to lie down, first of all, and put his head in your lap. He wants to feel your hands stroking his forehead, his hair, untangling the knots in his curls. He wants to fall asleep there and wake up without either of you having moved.

He wants to undress you very slowly, one piece of clothing at a time. He wants to pause and examine each area of your body as it is uncovered, as if seeing it for the first time. He wants to trace the veins under your skin with his fingertips until you shiver, and then kiss your mouth until you stop shivering.

He wants to kneel in front of you when you are naked and perform some kind of worship that he can't even fathom, let alone articulate. He wants to kiss your feet and then your hands and wait to be told what to do.

And sometimes he wants to possess you--not forever, just for a while--to kiss you, bite you, leave marks on you, to paint you with his spunk, to fuck you until you scream without words, like the foxes mating that left their mark on his memory, his imagination.

He wants to hold you. And be held. He wants to make you tea, properly, and watch you drink it. 

So many of these desires he has already poured in some way into his songs. But the songs were not about you, in particular. Many of the songs were not about anyone in particular, contrary to what fans might think.

He caps the pen and leans back in his chair, sighing, and the chair creaks along with him. In a little while he'll have to get ready to go out and meet with someone who might work with him on the next album, and right now he can't think of anything more true or more profound to write than, "I miss you. I want to touch you. I hope we can be together soon."

He thinks about the last time you were together, about the desperate hungry fuck that last night, the moment you both feared you'd broken the bed, the laughter and the quick spate of tears. The thought makes him start to rouse, and he wipes his hand across his mouth. He doesn't have time. He doesn't have time to wank over a memory; he doesn't have time to let the words well up and drip onto the page, the way they must when he writes something important. He doesn't have time. He wants more time with you.

For distraction, he seizes his phone and pulls up your last text, which he knows was mundane and not anything sexy. Just something about work, but reading it, he can hear you saying the words, and he smiles. He's never said so, but your accent is as strange and endearing to him sometimes as his is to you. Thinking of your voice is a comfort.

Reluctantly he pockets his phone and goes to the toilet for a leak before changing his shirt and combing his hair for the meeting. He gathers it into the neatest possible bun with a bobble and shoves an extra bobble onto his wrist just in case. Then a stop in the music room to get the guitar he wants, and out the front door, grabbing his brown leather jacket with one hand.

He's in the car, still in the driveway, when the phone buzzes. It's a text from you that just says, "Missing you" followed by a heart. It only takes a moment for him to type and send his reply: "Same, always". Followed by a heart and a musical note.

He wants to spend more time with you. He wants to make more music. He wants to live alone in the woods. He wants to make the world a better place. He has a meeting to get to. Time to go.


End file.
